For Walking
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Bertrand is going to do whatever it takes to survive in this cruel world he's found himself in. Even if that means being really, really sneaky. Eventual slash. Based on a fairytale.
1. Prologue

**Yes, this is another new fic despite all the various other things I should be updating instead. Blame redrachxo and Clare Thomas, frankly, because none of this is my fault. It's another fairytale adaptation, but as usual I'm not going to mention the name in case it actually keeps anyone guessing. Don't worry about the OC, he's not sticking around past the prologue.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine except Loïc Régis. And I don't even ****_like_**** him very much. Oh, I suppose Narcisse is mine too.**

Loïc Régis hadn't intended to create a half-fang, and now the boy had found him he didn't know what to do with him. In the end, he'd handed him that book people kept trying to stake him for, and sent him off on the same pointless quest his own father had sent him on as his inheritance. His eldest brother had got the castle and the title; his second brother had got the peasant he'd lusted after, and Loïc, the youngest, had been given the _Praedictum Impaver_ and been sent out on a laughable search for the Chosen One. It had been a fool's errand, and it hadn't kept him out of his brothers' hair for long before he was shaking their dust out of his own hair.

Narcisse Morin had scowled at him, though, when he tried to banish the half fang. Vampire etiquette, she reminded him, required that he present his half-fang with a token gift, just as a symbolic gesture of goodwill. He had no goodwill at all towards this mistake of nature, but he was trying to win Narcisse over – a very good match, she would make, and a good inheritance would be his as soon as she was gone – and so he agreed, silently cursing the chance that had brought her to the scene in the first place. The half-fang, whose name he hadn't bothered to learn, had bowed his head in deference and suggested that all he needed was a pair of sturdy boots to walk the world in.

Régis had ordered the fool some boots – he could have asked for gold and jewels and, to impress Narcisse, he probably would have given him them – and sent him on his way. Months later, Narcisse was dust – she really should have at least considered his proposal – and the half-fang appeared to have vanished from the face of the earth. Good; everything was as it should be. Régis returned to his castle and looked forward to a few more centuries of doing nothing but what he wanted to do.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here we are - ah, I just noticed something I didn't even notice I did in the first paragraph - sorry, sidetracked. 5am posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the first proper chapter of this fic, which shouldn't be more than 6 or 7 parts long at most.**

**Disclaimer: Neither Young Dracula, nor the story this is an adaptation of, belong to me.**

Bertrand had never known his sire's name, only that he was expected to find the Chosen One, and presumably to bring him back to his sire like a cat with a dead bird. The older vampire had wanted nothing to do with his accidental half-fang, sending him away with barely the courtesy of a parting gift. He'd been glad; he hated being beholden to anyone, or indeed being forced to spend time with tedious people – and his sire appeared to be just such a one.

He'd quickly discovered, however, that being a half-fang without a sire was far from easy. There was precious little respect for half-fangs floating around, and most of it came from who one's sire was. Bertrand neither knew, nor wished to acknowledge, this vital piece of information. The only respect he got, therefore, was a sort of fear of the Book. This did not get him very far.

With this in mind, he got to work on building up his social collateral. It took him a while to scrape together enough _actual_ collateral to start on his scheme – by tutoring vampire brats and drafting the odd document for the less able – but once he'd amassed a little capital he bought a lavish gift for a prominent vampire patriarch. It was a cape, a particularly fine, imposing one, and he sent it with all due aplomb to the current Count Dracula, head of one of the vampire world's most feared and respected clans, with the compliments of his master, the Marquis of Carabas.

It took some time for a response to arrive; when it did, he scanned it eagerly for any sign that his 'master's' generosity had been met with approval.

_I must admit, I don't recall ever meeting the Marquis of Carabas, nor have I heard his name before, but he has exquisite tastes in fashion. Should your master wish to send me anything in future, he is quite welcome to send an emissary to my castle here in Transylvania.  
With all due regard,  
Count Vladimir Dracula III_

Bertrand managed to take a present to the Dracula clan every fifty years or so after that, while building up a rapport with assorted other clans – all on the behalf of his master, the Marquis, of course. No family had taken to him quite as the Count had, however. Dracula's consort didn't seem to like him much, but then she frequently seemed indifferent to her lover as well, so Bertrand wasn't too hurt. He and the Count, on the other hand, could stay up all day discussing politics, proper castle maintenance, and Bertrand's fictional master.

The imaginary sire he'd invented for himself turned out to be a very useful ally to have; even if his sire was a complete unknown, other vampires seemed to acknowledge his worth more now that it seemed his master trusted him enough to keep him around and send him on diplomatic visits. Bertrand began to think that, if he just managed to keep up his correspondence – most of it addressed to the Marquis himself, of course, but answered by Bertrand all the same – and build on those friendships, he might one day be able to find his real sire, hand over all that power and influence, and prove his value. Being one's own sire was lonely and tiring and Bertrand wanted nothing more than to be told he'd done a good job; that he was worth something to someone.

As it was, the closest thing he had to a friend was Count Dracula himself, and Bertrand thought the older vampire might be beginning to see him as a friend, as well, as centuries passed. He was sure to send a lavish gift at least every half-century; if one of his other contacts was slain in the interim, the spare gifts usually found their way towards Castle Dracula, too. For almost four centuries this continued, until suddenly, just as Bertrand was preparing to take a small collection of gifts to the new Dracula residence in Wales and investigate the strange rumours that had surfaced about the Count's young children, the whole family disappeared. They weren't seen again for four years.


	3. Chapter 2

**Another chapter - already - mostly because redrachxo seemed so keen to see one. Anyway, it's quite short but quite important! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Also it's not that important.**

The next time Bertrand heard from Count Dracula, it was through a letter sent to the little house he'd insisted all correspondence to the Marquis go through. Most of the many, many vampires in regular correspondence with Carabas were under the impression that all his post went there for extensive screening, in case of garlic; the rest had never asked.

_Carabas, my friend,  
I find myself in need of a reliable tutor for my son and heir, Vladimir, and I need someone whose judgement I can trust to recommend someone. Do you know of anyone who might be up to the task?  
V. Dracula III_

Bertrand read the note again and allowed himself a little smirk.

_My dear Count Dracula,  
It is good to hear from you again. Perhaps you remember my emissary, Bertrand? He has extensive experience in the area of tutoring young vampires and I would be more than happy to send him to your aid. In fact, I shall send him with this letter; if you do not want or require his services, simply send him back.  
Regards,  
The Marquis of Carabas_

When he arrived at the school, he handed the letter to Renfield and waited for the Count to acknowledge his presence. He didn't even waste time greeting him or formally accepting his services.  
"He'll be in class with the _enchanting_ Miss McCauley now." He told him where, and sent Bertrand off to find him. Bertrand checked he still had the Book, and tried not to feel guilty about his duplicity. He had heard the rumours, of course, the stories of Vladimir Dracula IV, Chosen One. It would be remiss of him not to check them out.

Vlad resisted at first, and Bertrand had to pretend he was putting his family at risk – not entirely accurate, but close enough to the truth that Bertrand almost felt bad about it – but he accepted Bertrand's offer of help eventually. The Count seemed surprised when Vlad introduced his new tutor as if it was his own idea, but reasoned that if that was what it took to get Vlad to cooperate, he could play along.

Bertrand was sure that Vlad would get the Book open any day now, and his sire would be proud of him for succeeding in his quest. He could find him, explain what he had done for him… he could hand him all the power and influence of the Marquis of Carabas… he could be accepted. As he continued to work with the young heir to the Dracula title, it became clear that acceptance was not wholly out of Bertrand's reach; Vlad seemed quite happy to work with him, even preferring to train rather than spend time with his girlfriend, sometimes. Bertrand liked it when that happened, although he couldn't really work out why; he didn't really like the girl, but it seemed petty to be so smug about drawing Vlad away from her now and again.

He enjoyed his time with the boy, far more than he had enjoyed tutoring vampire children in the past; it probably helped that Vlad was old enough to hold an intellectual conversation, to know his own mind, to be stubborn and argumentative and thoroughly irresistible. At any rate, it wasn't an unpleasant situation to work in, so it didn't bother Bertrand too much as the Book remained firmly shut on the large bookstand Vlad had been thoughtful enough to provide.


	4. Chapter 3

**This was supposed to be my buffer but I couldn't resist posting it. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, come on, be serious.**

"Bertrand," the Chosen One began one day, "do you really think I can't open the Book because I'm distracted by Erin?"  
"I think you _can_ open the Book, but the distractions aren't helping."  
"I'm not breaking up with her. There's… I don't think there really is anything to break up. We kissed twice, and then… I suppose it just fizzled out."  
"Then what's distracting you?" Vlad shrugged, eyes on the floor, and Bertrand let it go.

The boy managed to get mixed up with the family Blood Mirror again, and suddenly he was all determination and unleashed power. The Book turned out to be disappointingly blank, and Vlad disappeared for a full week – a week in which the Count and Bertrand chatted as they had in centuries past, trying not to worry about the son and heir they had both tried so hard to find.

"Your master, Carabas, he seems like a fine, upstanding vampire."  
"He is. He speaks very highly of you." Bertrand wasn't sure where this discussion was going, but talk of his sire always put him on his guard.  
"I wish to formalise an alliance with him. Perhaps even a political marriage – I have a daughter, after all, she might as well be useful for something." The tutor winced; he didn't know anything about his sire, but he doubted Ingrid would settle for him. He wasn't sure he wanted the Draculas that close to his sire, anyway, given the act that would have to be maintained. And it wasn't as if he even knew where he was. There was no Marquis of Carabas; he would have to try to deflect the Count from the idea.

"I'm not sure he's interested in a marriage with _any_ woman, I'm afraid." Bertrand bowed his head in apology. "Perhaps a meeting could be arranged, however."  
"Of course, I'll write and suggest it. These things are best discussed in person, after all."  
"I'll post the letter when I go into town tonight, if you'd like."  
"Yes, thank you, I don't want Renfield getting his _smell_ all over it. What takes you into town tonight?" Bertrand hesitated; the beat of silence had the air of a weary shrug.  
"He might come back."

He did come back, two nights later, more or less back to his old self, and Bertrand glued himself to the Chosen One's side. Through a series of Erin-related accidents, the Book managed to become an insane ancient vampire and threatened to destroy the world as they knew it. Bertrand had been impressed by the speed with which Vlad adapted to that, and Ingrid's simultaneous attempt to lead a rebellion with a group of girls she'd bitten, not to mention Bertrand's discovery that Erin was a slayer, not a half-fang as they'd thought. He'd helped to vanquish Sethius, joining the rest of the household – and a couple of slayers it seemed he'd have to tolerate – in catching the deranged elder in a sun-trap.

Later, Vlad had sought him out.  
"I'm sorry I ruined your book. I know… I mean, you must have carried it for years, it must be weird that it's gone." He nodded; it was a strange feeling, almost like loss.  
"It's not your fault; I'm sorry I brought you danger-"  
"Here." He was holding out an old, worn copy of _Le Morte D'Arthur_. "It's nothing fancy, I just… I got it for my sixteenth and I thought… well, at least it's not made of vampire."  
"I don't understand." Did he want to work on opening that instead?  
"I want you to have it. I destroyed your book, after all."

Bertrand took a moment to appreciate the way Vlad was offering him the book with both hands, a sign of respect, and then another to appreciate the fact that he was offering him it at all, before taking the book, also with both hands.  
"Thank you." He didn't know how to begin to express how touched he was by the gesture. Not only was it a completely unnecessary gift, but it was the first he'd received since… well, since the sturdy pair of boots he wore.

Vlad simply nodded and left Bertrand in peace to trace the embossed cover of the book. He couldn't have the Draculas discover his lies, now more than ever. That night, he went into town and posted a letter he was sure would offend the Count enough that he would stop trying to invite Carabas to stay.

_Dear Count Dracula,  
Thank you for your kind invitation. I would prefer not to travel to England at the moment, but you must by all means visit me and enjoy my hospitality.  
Regards,  
The Marquis of Carabas._

Bertrand put the letter in the post inside another envelope addressed to the care of a post office near his base of operations, and returned to the school safe in the knowledge that the Count would be too affronted to invite his master here again.


	5. Chapter 4

**Here's another little update - we're actually getting near the end now. Hard to believe. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, obviously.**

"Wonderful news, Bertrand!" He looked up as the Count swept into the dining room looking far too happy for comfort. "You're going home."  
"Have I done something to displease you?" He hadn't expected to be cast out because of his master's rudeness, though of course the possibility had occurred to him.  
"Not at all, not at all – we're coming too."  
"You… I'm sorry?" The Count smiled at him.  
"We've been invited to visit. No doubt your master wants you back to help prepare things before he sends his location, but we won't be far behind. You'd better go and pack, hadn't you?" Bertrand blinked, then shook himself out of it.  
"Yes. If you'll excuse me."

He threw his belongings into his suitcase, glad he didn't have very much to pack – the sooner he got out of here, the sooner he could start formulating his next plan – and was just turning to leave the training room when Vlad appeared, blocking the doorway.  
"Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" He shook his head.  
"Of course not; I was just going to-" Vlad surprised him, then, by pulling him into a hug.  
"Couldn't get away with hugs in front of Dad." Bertrand awkwardly returned the gesture, unsure whether to be relieved or sad when the boy pulled back. "Anyway, we'll see you soon."

Vlad smiled innocently up at him, and Bertrand's stomach churned. How had he let things come to this? He would have to let down the Draculas, the most powerful vampire clan, the Chosen One himself… He would never see Vlad smile at him again. He forced himself to smile back.  
"Yeah. Of course you will."

Saying goodbye to the Count was draining, too, but Bertrand managed to get out of the door at last. He set off down the road with no clear idea of where he was going – back to his little house, he supposed, in the first instance – and decided to walk back, via every inn he found himself close to at sunrise. He'd just got to France when he ran into someone whose face was vaguely familiar, someone his every instinct screamed for him to obey.  
"Hello, boy." He spoke as if to a dog rather than a fellow vampire. "I hear you've been busy." Then he kicked Bertrand's legs out from underneath him, forcing him to his knees in the dirt of the road.

It turned out that his sire had indeed heard of the success of a vampire with a mystical book, who had found and tested the Chosen One, won the respect of the Draculas. He had set out to track his unwanted half-fang down.  
"Tell me how you did it. How did you survive without a sire?" Bertrand could hardly refuse to tell him, and it wasn't even as if flight was an option – the sun was high, and they were both holed up in a dingy hotel room that charged by the hour. He blurted out the story with difficulty, and his sire laughed. "Excellent. It seems I have a new title to assume." Bertrand opened his mouth to protest – he couldn't expose the Draculas, the Chosen One, _Vlad_, to this man – but his sire merely spat at him and demanded that he begin drafting a letter to the Count, explaining where his castle could be found.


	6. Chapter 5

**And another update! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: None of this stuff is mine.**

When night fell, Bertrand's sire dragged him back by his collar and set him to work, cleaning the Régis castle and writing to all his contacts to tell them exactly where the Marquis of Carabas could be found, should they wish to pay their respects. He managed to convince his sire to hold off on sending most of the letters, at least until the Chosen One arrived. It wouldn't do, after all, to have too many vampires descending on the castle at once. Bertrand spent the next few days on his knees, hoping the letter he'd sent to the Count had gone astray, scrubbing floors and performing any other duties his master cared to burden him with.  
"It seems half-fangs do have their uses, after all," the older vampire sneered as Bertrand struggled not to gag. "When you've finished with the floor, you can start brushing down the tapestries." Then he swept off to threaten the local peasants, leaving his half-fang to rue the day cobwebs and muck had gone out of fashion.

A letter arrived while Régis was out, addressed to the Marquis; Bertrand knew he'd be punished for opening it, but he did so anyway, furtively scanning the page.  
_My dear Carabas,  
We should arrive at your delightful abode tomorrow night; I have much to discuss with you. Bertrand may have informed you that I have a daughter whom it would give me great pleasure to see married, but my son, the Chosen One, is also intended for a political match and I wonder if you might consider him as a suitor for any offspring you may have been keeping secret from me. Between you and me, I don't think he'd be too concerned as to whether you have sons or daughters, if you understand.  
Until tomorrow,  
Count Vladimir Dracula III._

Bertrand crumpled the note and stared anxiously out into the night; if his own limited experience of unlife with Régis was anything to go by, the man would want the Chosen One – or his sister – for himself, never mind any hypothetical children. He would not wish that on anyone, let alone the Draculas. He threw himself into his cleaning – degrading though it might be, at least scrubbing floors and brushing tapestries kept him busy while his brain ran through every possible solution to his problem.

He wasn't even aware of his master's return until the first drops of holy water hit him – the man had acquired a bottle of the stuff from somewhere and was flicking it idly in his half-fang's direction.  
"The peasants are terrified of me, boy. They'll tell anyone who'll listen about their master, the Marquis of Carabas, and his terrible rage, his awesome power. _My_ awesome power. What's that?"

He took one hard look at Bertrand and demanded he empty his pockets; the letter was sticking out, Bertrand realised, cursing his foolishness. Régis scanned it with a cackle of glee as the sun rose outside.  
"Would you look at that, boy! The Chosen One, offered to me on a silver platter. But you must be punished." Bertrand winced; the gleam in his sire's eye told him he definitely wasn't going to like the punishment. "But first you can get me a bottle of blood. Some things just can't be done on an empty stomach."

Bertrand rose, head bowed, and made his way towards Régis' Blood Cellar, picking up the bottle of holy water from where his sire had carelessly discarded it on an antique sideboard. He returned as quickly as he could and knelt in reluctant submission, holding out a goblet of rich, red blood to his master.  
"So keen, boy! Let me finish my drink, fir-" He choked, and Bertrand risked a glance up from under his lowered eyelids. "What have you done?" Régis was spluttering, now, letting out animalistic howls of pain, and Bertrand shot to the other side of the room as he began to retch. Within minutes, the holy water had done its job, and his sire was no more than a heap of dust in the floor of the entrance hall.

Bertrand stared at the dust for a moment, trying to feel something. Nothing came; no triumph, no grief, no guilt. He felt nothing for Régis, nothing but disgust. He turned from the sight and went to continue making the castle presentable.


	7. Chapter 6

**You know, this is either the last proper chapter or the penultimate proper chapter. Then there'll probably be an epilogue. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand was just sweeping a large pile of dust out into the evening air when a joyful shout reached his ears.  
"Bertrand!" He looked up to see Vlad waving at him, Ingrid scowling at her brother as she tried to match her father's dignified walk. Vlad had no such compunctions and came up the path at twice the speed of the others, beaming. "Your boss seems to be the talk of the town, apparently the Marquis of Carabas owns all the land and rules all the peasants as far as… well, for miles. We walked the last bit of the way to appreciate the scenery, we were at the inn in the next town all day. How are you?"

Bertrand blinked, a little overwhelmed by the rush of information and the warmth of the greeting.  
"I – yes, I'm well, thank you, Vlad. I hope your journey wasn't too unpleasant." He still wasn't sure how he was going to explain the absence of his sire – he swept the last of the repulsive creature off the top step, being careful not to get any on the Chosen One – but at least the castle was neat. Could he, perhaps, claim that he'd been called away? No, the Count would surely wait for his host's return. Still, he could settle them in first before trying to explain what had happened.

"Bertrand, how good to see you again." The Count was smiling, for all his formality.  
"And you, Count Dracula. Ingrid. Please, come in." They stood in the entrance hall, the broken glass and dust of hours before long gone, and looked around. The castle was sparsely decorated; Bertrand had taken the tackier items his sire had preferred and tucked them away in the cellar. After all, if he was going to go around slaying people, he might as well go the whole hog and steal their castles, and if he was going to steal this castle, it was going to look nice.

"We're in the middle of redecorating, I'm afraid." The Count nodded, but Bertrand could tell he was only half paying attention.  
"Ah, yes. And is the Marquis at home?" Bertrand hesitated, and Ingrid raised an eyebrow, obviously suspicious.  
"He… My… That is to say…" Vlad was studying him intently now, too, and Bertrand didn't dare so much as glance at the Count. It was Ingrid who finally spoke.  
"There _is_ no Marquis of Carabas, is there?" Bertrand's eyes widened; how had he let this happen? How had he allowed himself to be discovered? How could he explain that he had just killed his sire, that he had lied to them all this time? "_You're_ the Marquis."

He hadn't been expecting that, but Ingrid had just offered him the perfect opportunity to salvage some tiny part of this situation. It could backfire, of course – they could be furious. Then again, it couldn't be worse than telling them the truth about his sire. Besides, hadn't he written the letters, hadn't he bought the gifts? To all intents and purposes, he _was_ the vampire the Draculas knew as the Marquis of Carabas. He took a moment to steady his resolve, and swept an elaborate bow.  
"At your service. There's no fooling you, Ingrid."

He waited anxiously for the Draculas to react; Vlad breathed a deep sigh of relief and Ingrid visibly relaxed. The Count, meanwhile, swept a calculating look over his long-time correspondent and nodded.  
"You have impeccable taste in gifts, Bertrand." Bertrand's eyes widened; they were accepting this, accepting _him_.

He hastened to show each of the Draculas to a room; the Count got the largest, of course, but he put Ingrid in a very nice room as far from the Count as she could comfortably get, and was rewarded with a smile. That left him and Vlad to walk through the castle together; he knew Vlad had a preference for tower rooms and had found one that was habitable and spruced it up a little. Of course, that had been before his sire had become dust, but he'd made sure it was ready just in case. It was near enough his own room that he could protect the Chosen One if he had to, and within easy reach of the rooms he'd planned to give Ingrid and the Count if his sire had still been in residence when they'd arrived. He hadn't trusted the man; he was glad he was gone.

"I'm glad you're the Marquis," Vlad began suddenly, breaking the companionable silence, "I was a bit worried. Dad was talking about political marriages again, and Ingrid… I was afraid she'd be stuck with someone horrible. I'd have taken her place, if it had been someone awful. But it's you, and I… Oh, _bats_, I wasn't supposed to mention it, but then Dad probably already told you, the go-betweens are always the first to know these things…" He peered at Bertrand doubtfully and the half-fang hastened to reassure him.  
"I was aware that your father was considering it, yes."  
"Good. Yeah, I'm just glad it's you, 'cos you know Ingrid and you won't let Dad talk you into anything just for politics… right?" Bertrand hesitated, then shook his head. "And you're nice, and clever, and loyal, and if you go along with this I know you'll treat my sister well. So I don't have to worry."

They were at the door of Vlad's room, and Bertrand saved himself from having to answer by showing him in and giving him a quick tour of the room itself. As he went to leave, though, he turned in the doorway.  
"If your father asks me to marry Ingrid… I'll probably refuse. I'm sorry, Vlad, but your sister deserves someone who loves her, and I could never be that." Vlad nodded, then looked away, speaking in a tone that sounded like it was being kept deliberately light and casual.

"What about me? He might offer, after all…" Bertrand shot him a look, but the boy was examining the top of the window frame with apparent fascination and even Bertrand couldn't tell if he was joking from the back of his head alone. He tried to match Vlad's tone as he answered the question, keeping it in the realm of witty banter – or so he hoped. He'd never really engaged in witty banter before he arrived at Garside.  
"You'd have to buy me a drink, first." Vlad turned, then, mid-laugh, as if he'd been expecting him to scoff at the idea. He supposed he should have; it should have been unthinkable. And yet…  
"D'you mean that?"  
"Yes." He didn't even hesitate. "I mean… I don't know. You're talking about marrying yourself off, after all." Vlad swallowed, looking anxious, and Bertrand wondered whether it was at the thought of being married off or because he thought Bertrand was rejecting him. The elder of the pair shifted awkwardly. "One drink at a time, yeah?"

The Chosen One's face lit up.  
"Deal, but the second one's on you. The night's still young, where's the nearest pub?" He hadn't even taken off his travelling cape, and showed no inclination for hanging about, and Bertrand found himself swept along with him before he could protest.


	8. Chapter 7

**After this, there's one more short chapter and an epilogue. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand had never really had a drinking buddy before, but he was fairly certain that when drinking buddies walked home, they didn't drunkenly slip their hands into the back pockets of each other's jeans. He was pretty sure that they didn't rest their heads against one another, or compliment each other's best features, or end up wrapped in the same big, warm greatcoat. He was especially certain that they didn't do any of things when all either of them had had were a couple of glasses of coke.

So really, when Vlad started dragging his feet as they approached the castle, he wasn't too surprised.  
"We have to get back, I've been a terrible host as it is." Vlad stopped altogether, then.  
"Wait." Bertrand turned to him expectantly and waited as he steeled himself to say something. "Look, I… I don't know how you didn't pick up on it before, because you normally know _everything_, but I really fancy you. I have for a long time. And I… obviously I'm not saying you have to commit to anything, but I'd like… could we give us a try?"

Bertrand stared at him for a moment, unsure how to react. Of course there was only one thing he could possibly say, but he felt like something else would be expected of him then.  
"Yes. Yes, I'd like that." Sure enough, Vlad looked like he was waiting for something, and Bertrand had seen enough of life to guess that he was probably expecting a kiss. But he didn't know what to do, so he just let the awkward silence drag on, hating himself for it as Vlad visibly put two and two together.  
"Bertrand… is it alright if I kiss you?" He nodded dumbly, and then Vlad was pulling him down and his lips were on Bertrand's, and he realised it really wasn't that difficult to kiss someone once you just got brave enough to try.

They stumbled through the castle door as the first rays of dawn appeared over the horizon, trying not to look guilty, and found the Count waiting in the entrance hall.  
"Good, you look like you've had a good time. Bertrand, could I have a word?" He swallowed as Vlad disappeared up towards his room – it was fortunate, really, that he'd left the curtains closed before they went out – and he was left to face the boy's father alone. Was he finally about to be punished for his lies? Was he to meet the same fate as his sire? Would he be chastised for running off with Vlad and leaving his other guests alone?

He led the Count into a small parlour that didn't look as if it had seen much use of late – clean, of course, because hadn't Bertrand scrubbed the entire castle himself? – and sat waiting for the stake to plunge.  
"I'm sorry to bring this up so soon after our arrival, Bertrand, but your… _secret identity_ has meant that you are already aware of one of my objectives in coming here." He nodded, frowning; he'd wanted to meet and ally with the Marquis, hadn't he? He saw no indelicacy in raising the question so early. "I wish to form an alliance between us, strengthened – if it suits you, of course – by a marriage." Bertrand blinked at him.  
"I assumed you would no longer wish for that, now that you are aware that the Marquis of Carabas has neither clan nor household. Little could be gained by such a proposal; an alliance, I could understand, but a marriage would be a very unequal agreement."

The Count, to his surprise, merely laughed.  
"This is why I want you in my corner, Bertrand! That head for strategy, that determination to succeed – that's what you bring to the table, and I would rather offer you the security of a clan than have you snatched up by another. Now, I believe I'm right in thinking that you are, to all intents and purposes, your own sire?" He nodded dumbly. "Well then, there are no complications in that department. And it isn't as if my children don't like you. They know you, _I _know you… I can't see a problem. What I'm asking, Bertrand, is whether you wish to _marry_ Ingrid. Join the Dracula clan, in all but name, of course." Bertrand closed his eyes; this was the moment he'd dreaded.

"Forgive me, Count, but I'm not what your daughter needs or deserves, and I fear we could never be right for each other. I will, of course, remain your ally-" He stood, but the Count stood with him.  
"Reluctant to break the Chosen One's heart, I see." Bertrand stared at him, and the Count scoffed. "It's been obvious for months that Vlad has been pining away for you. I had no _idea_ you were interested in him, too."  
"What makes you think-?"  
"Beside the way you both giggled your way through the door not twenty minutes ago, having been out alone together all night? There was also the very telling way you listened attentively to my entire proposal until, when I mentioned Ingrid, the light in your eyes went out." He said it with disdain, as if the whole conversation was somehow beneath him. "So, how about it? Don't tell me how awful this is strategically – offering the Chosen One's hand to a half-fang with no clan." He leant in. "Between you and me, I'd rather my children were _happy_. Even Ingrid. Power is always a nice bonus, of course."

Bertrand sank down onto the chair he'd risen from only moments before.  
"If you don't mind, I'd rather Vlad was here when we have this discussion." The Count nodded and opened his mouth as if to call for the boy. "And if I might ask a further favour, I need some time to think things over. Might we continue this discussion tonight?"  
"Very well. Yes, a little thinking time might be very wise. Good day, Bertrand." They departed to their separate rooms and settled down for the day.


	9. Chapter 8

**Last proper chapter *sob* but there's an epilogue to follow. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand lay in his shroud, staring at the ceiling. It had been a very, very strange day, followed by an even stranger night, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good day's sleep. Before he'd left Garside, almost certainly. It seemed that wasn't going to change, as his mind raced through the events of the previous few days over and over again. He was just beginning to think about bashing his head against the wall until he knocked himself out when there was a tap at the door.

He struggled out of his shroud and straightened his clothing before opening the door. There stood Vlad, looking awkward.  
"Can we talk?" Bertrand's cold heart sank; the boy had come to his senses and wanted to make sure last night's indiscretions would never happen again.  
"Of course. Come in." Vlad stepped over the threshold before Bertrand could realise how he might have misinterpreted the invitation, but the Chosen One simply looked around curiously before sitting down on the floor next to the shroud.  
"What did Dad say to you?"

Bertrand dropped down beside him and explained what had been said, and Vlad nodded anxiously.  
"So… he really wants to marry me off to you?" Bertrand shrugged, remembering the Count's words about happiness. He decided to keep the Count's confidence about that. "What are you going to say?" He hesitated.  
"I don't know. I said I wouldn't discuss it unless you were there. It all seems a bit sudden. What do you think?" Vlad leant across and kissed him carefully on the lips, and some of the tension left Bertrand's shoulders.  
"I don't want to miss out on this, the getting-to-know-each-other part." He paused. "But Dad's going to want to get me married off sooner rather than later. If not to you…" Bertrand frowned; he could see the boy's dilemma.  
"Do you think we could agree a dating period, before we have to commit to anything?"

The Count took one look at Vlad's swollen lips and the way Bertrand's hair wouldn't quite lie flat as they all assembled for breakfast that evening, and seemed to realise they hadn't slept a wink.  
"I'll make this quick. Ingrid, leave-"  
"Actually, Dad, can she stay?" The Count glanced between his children and then at Bertrand, as if suspicious that he'd changed his mind about which one he wanted, but Bertrand knew Vlad wanted Ingrid to see that negotiation was possible in this situation. At least, they had to hope it was.

"Well. You're both aware of the arrangement I suggested last night, a marriage alliance between the pair of you?" They nodded. "And?"  
"We want a trial period," Bertrand said firmly, "perhaps two years, to date and get to know each other properly before we commit to anything. But no marrying Vlad off in the meantime." Ingrid was making faces in the background, but he ignored her as the Count deliberated for a few awful moments.  
"One year. Deal?"  
"Deal," Vlad answered in a hurry before glancing at Bertrand as if to check that was OK.  
"Deal."  
"Good. Now I suggest you two go back to bed. _Separately._" Ingrid's laughter followed them all the way up the stairs.

Bertrand thought, as he settled in his shroud yet again, that he would have settled for a much shorter time than a year. He suspected he already knew what his answer would be.


	10. Epilogue

**Firstly: HOW EPIC WAS THE EPISODE? VERY EPIC. OK done with the caps now.**

**Secondly, this is the epilogue and the end. Hope you've enjoyed the story! Did you get which one it's an adaptation of? Just curious. Anyway, here's the epilogue. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

_"Vlad, if we're going to date, you should probably know… I'm not the Marquis of anything, I never was. I never meant to take the title, but my sire… he's dust. This was his castle, I took it. He was… I couldn't let him… He couldn't be allowed to hurt you or Ingrid." Vlad frowned, taking this in, and Bertrand could only wait for his judgement.  
"So your sire was the one writing to Dad all this time? He really did send you to be my tutor, you had to come?"  
"I had to come because of the Book. But no, all of that was me. I needed a sire – a half-fang without one… and mine didn't want to know which, all things considered, is for the best." He watched anxiously as the Chosen One processed this information.  
"Well," Vlad said at last, "when I'm officially Grand High Vampire, I'll have to see about formalising it." Bertrand stared at him.  
"I thought you'd be angry."  
"I thought you'd be relieved. Maybe even grateful. I thought you might kiss me." Bertrand had spent too long teaching the Chosen One to let him be wrong about that._

It had been 8 months since Bertrand had dusted his sire, and seven and a half since he'd come clean to Vlad. Now, after weeks of discussion, they were waiting for the Count to make his way into the lounge at Garside Grange. When he did, it took him precisely twenty seconds to realise that something was up.  
"What's going on?"  
"We wanted to talk to you, Dad, about this… trial dating thing." The Count raised an eyebrow.  
"I'm listening." Vlad continued.  
"It's not really working out, we don't want to do it anymore."

Vlad's father sank into the nearest chair, a slightly puzzled frown appearing on his face.  
"I see. And it all seemed to be going so well. Do you mind if I ask why?" This time, it was Bertrand who spoke.  
"It's unnecessary. We want to bring our engagement forward." Before the Count could even react, Vlad had crossed the room to slip an arm around his former tutor, the Marquis of Carabas.  
"Bertrand proposed, and I said yes, and please don't tell me you've changed your mind, Dad."

The Count's frown lifted gradually into a broad smile.  
"Finally! There are arrangements to be made, we have a lot to organise! Where's your sister? How soon can we make this happen? RENFIELD!" As his father began shouting orders and instructions, Bertrand pulled Vlad closer against him and dropped a kiss into his hair.  
"I think he's alright with it."


End file.
